


Dean's Dirk

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Series: October Fic Fest [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ancestors, Angel Castiel, Angelic Lore, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Campbell Ancestry, Castiel In Love, Castiel Loves Dean, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Saps, Castiel and Dean in Love, Castiel in the Bunker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean In Love, Dean Loves Castiel, Dean's Birthday, Dean's Heritage, Dean's History, Falling In Love, Ficlet, Fluff, Gift Giving, Intimacy, Kissing, Love, M/M, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Nervous Castiel, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot, One Shot Collection, One True Pairing, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Mark of Cain, Romance, Romantic Castiel, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Tension, Schmoop, Scotland, Scottish Character, Tenderness, Time Travel, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's birthday hardly causes a stir since Team Free Will is so occupied with trying to find a way to trap The Darkness, yet nothing ever slips Castiel's mind. Inspired by an old angelic tradition, he has an extremely special gift for Dean that required traveling back to eighteenth century Scotland to meet Sam and Dean's ancestors from the Campbell line. There, he acquires a gift that only Dean could understand and appreciate. And as he listens to the story, Dean realizes Castiel has given him a gift far more precious than a beautiful weapon. A brief kiss in the past left untouched and unacknowledged suddenly becomes so much more as Dean sees how deeply bonded Castiel is to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean's Dirk

January 24, 2016

"Cas, we got work to do."

"I know. This won't take long."

Dean followed Castiel out of the bunker library into the industrial kitchen for a bit of privacy. It seemed completely unnecessary to Dean, the want of privacy, but Sam didn't even look up from his research. He waved them off without care, making Dean realize that he must have known about it--whatever it was.

He crossed his arms there in the kitchen, noticing how Castiel shuffled where he stood. The guy was nervous. A thousand horrifying scenarios ran through Dean's mind from The Darkness sweeping back through Kansas again to desperate news that his grace wasn't healed after all. His spine prickled and he felt his posture rising as if readying himself for more bad news.

"Spit it out, Cas. What's the matter?"

The angel's blue eyes lifted to his, insecure and bright, as he held out a shiny gift bag. Barbie's face stared back at him in all of her blonde glory. "It's your birthday," he said awkwardly. "I'm sorry about the bag. I had it from Claire's birthday when you said--"

"--When I said teenage girls don't do Barbie," Dean filled in with a slow grin. The tension uncoiled from his shoulders enough to let him accept the obnoxiously pink bag. "I didn't even remember my own fucking birthday."

"Well, I did." A light shrug recalled Castiel's time as a human.

The box stashed inside the bag had a pleasant weight to it. Long and rectangular, it resembled a rather suspicious shape, which prompted an equally suspicious look until he decided Castiel wasn't the type to give that kind of gag gift. Dean untied strings holding the lid on the box and found white tissue paper neatly folded over the treasure. He grinned just a little. That was definitely like Castiel. He probably searched how to give a birthday gift on YouTube and watched a dozen videos from Martha Stewart wannabes.

Unwrapping the tissue paper revealed a--he gasped--a new weapon. But it wasn't new. It was old, even antique, but it was also carefully restored to its original strength and splendor. He cradled a three-tiered dagger in the palm of his hand. Carved wood wrapped in tight leather for a solid grip and silver etched in beautiful designs held three blades. One was a about the size of an angel blade along with two smaller blades likely meant for throwing at the target each had the same leather-wrapped wood handles with decorative silver plates. Topping each handle were huge cut yellow gemstones but neither obnoxious or in the way.

"I can't believe this," Dean said quietly. "Awesome."

He unsheathed the largest dagger and tested the weight of it in his hand. Yes, good--it was well-balanced. The handle curved into his palm almost like shaking hands when one warrior met another. In fact, the curved end of the handle fit so snugly in his palm that it could have been made for a man of his exact size.

"This kind of weapon is called a dirk," offered Castiel with a little smile.

Dean lunged forward, testing how the weapon felt. Then he sheathed the largest dagger--oh, there was a leather loop on the back to attach it to his belt--and plucked out the smaller blades. He was having fun now. The skinnier blades fit between his fingers, which freed up his other hand for throwing. Of course he'd have to test that outside later since Sam had a damn fit about playing with weapons inside the bunker.

"Cas, this is ... I don't even know what to say." He grinned at the angel.

Something extra luminous came through Castiel as he watched Dean familiarize himself with the dirk. "I wasn't certain of what to give you for your birthday. Everything at the Hot Topical seemed far below your age group even though Claire still likes her angry cat. Sometimes she texts me photos as if the toy's having coffee or doing homework. It was a good gift for her but you...." Castiel shrugged. "I asked Claire what you might like. She said 'old people music' but I'm fairly certain you have all the cassette tapes you want. Then she told me about how you let her have a gun."

Dean grinned and shrugged, knowing he was a little bit in trouble for that one. "She's a good shot," he put in but Castiel's head tilt suggested that was the wrong thing to say.

"I don't like guns in principle," Castiel replied, "but Claire had a point with suggesting weapons. You love that sort of thing." He approached and took the dirk into his hands like an artifact. Fingers brushed fingers as he studied Dean's eyes. "Among my kind, there's a tradition older than most of us can remember. The angel who trained me passed one of his weapons on to me--the blade you've seen me fight with over the years. It's an honorable tradition. I wanted you to have it, too, but more so because you've lost most of your family to evil."

The hot flush of long-buried anger and grief curled around Dean's chest. He felt his neck flush red the way it did when he suppressed emotion. Thinking of his butchered family hurt, yet Castiel standing there--always there with him--was like a healing balm. He shoved those thoughts aside. There wasn't time or energy to reason out his feelings for the angel.

"So I asked myself if I could give you my tradition," continued Castiel. "I thought it had to go deeper into your history than just giving you a gun your father used. You have plenty of those and," he shrugged, "the relationship proved too complicated to give you the kind of strength I know you need to see you through the struggles we're enduring now." He paused and his eyes flickered away for the briefest second. Was that emotion? "I went through your genealogy records here in the bunker, which you might not even know exist. Sam helped me fill in the blanks on your mother's side because I think you're a lot like her. It took some work but I was happy to immerse myself in everything that created you here today."

The dirk's yellow topper stone glittered in the harsh industrial kitchen lights as Castiel moved. Dean wanted to reach out and touch, yet he couldn't be sure if he wanted to touch the weapon or the angel holding it.

"Your mother's people were from clan Campbell of Argyll before the Jacobite uprising wiped out Highland culture." As he said t, he waved a hand and shook his head. "I'll explain it another time if you're confused. Suffice it to say your sixth great grandfather was a Campbell laird--that's a leader--and it was up to him to protect all other Campbells of Argyll from any threat. I decided he was the right vein of your blood from which to draw strength."

Dean glanced at the dirk again. "What'd you do, Cas?"

"I went back."

"To Scotland?" His brows lifted in unison.

"Yes." Then the angel hesitated. "I bent time and slipped through. We've done it before, you and I, during the apocalypse."

A white-hot bolt of protective energy seared Dean and he postured quite tall, ready for a fight where there was none to be had. "Why'd you try that again? It almost killed you last time. I hauled your feathery ass up to a hotel room and locked you in it thinking I was probably gonna come back and find you dead."

"I didn't die then and I didn't die this time." A little smile began pulling at Castiel's mouth. "But I appreciate your concern."

Dean huffed.

"As I was saying," Castiel went on, "I bent time and slipped through. I met your sixth great grandfather and demonstrated my power."

Gaping then, Dean couldn't believe it. "You let another human know you're an angel? You met my grandfather?" The puzzle pieces were starting to fit together in a clearer and astonishing picture of just how much Castiel did for a simple birthday gift. It wasn't a simple gift at all, though, he realized.

"It was necessary to make him believe my mission," replied the angel in such a calm tone like talking about running down the street for pizza. "His name was Grant Campbell and he was bigger than you if you can believe it. Maybe even bigger than Sam but not much. I told him who I was and that I'm a guardian angel for his grandson far into the future. It took a demonstration of power but Catholics are typically easier to convince than other faiths."

The strength bled out of Dean's legs as Castiel wound through the story, making him sit on the stainless steel table just behind him. Realizing the depths of how much another being cared for him--enough to bend time, for fuck's sake--left him completely speechless.

"Grant wanted to know everything about you and your brother. He couldn't believe the Campbells made it to the New World. I explained that you and Sam are warriors but maybe not in the sense that he would recognize. A Campbell warrior is a Campbell warrior, he'd said, though."

Dean laughed. "You do a great Scottish voice."

Smiling blue eyes looked his way. "I can imitate any language and any accent."

"Show off." The shock was starting to fade, replaced by burning curiosity and excitement along with the deep unspoken knowledge that only love could have made such a time bending miracle happen.

"I had to show off my drinking skills too," added Castiel somewhat woefully. "Scots of that time did a lot of business over whiskey. While we talked, he kept refilling my glass, and his, like he was trying to convey his wealth and hospitality. So I told him about your mother being quite a skilled warrior like you, which made him slap the table next to him and laugh. He was exceedingly proud. I suppose Campbell women in his time were encouraged to fight off invading enemy clans if they got too close to home and hearth, so having a strong woman was like a badge of honor."

"I like it." Dean nodded sagely.

"I thought you would." More relaxed now, Castiel neared Dean and seated himself on the edge of the table. Their arms touched and the closeness felt natural. They both peered at the dirk in Castiel's hands. "I told him about the tradition among my kind of passing on weapons. He seemed to understand. In fact, I think he became more religious when he realized we angels are warriors too."

"War's kinda like a spiritual awakening," commented Dean softly.

Castiel nodded. "Then I explained why I came back, that I wanted to give you something for courage. It wasn't easy explaining things without planting modern ideas in his mind but I made him understand we're fighting a war now. This dirk was made at Cawdor Castle for your grandfather the laird. He lived there. When I told him about you, he unbuckled this leather strap right here from his kilt and pressed this dirk into my hands with the most earnest plea that I should give it to you. And then he gave me a Campbell sword to give Sam, which I'm saving for his birthday, so you can't tell him."

A wordless nod was all Dean could manage, his astonishment rising like a tide once again. He watched Castiel open his hands so scarred by thirty years of fighting and the dirk found its new home there. Closing Dean's fingers over the weapon also closed his own hands overtop, skin thrumming warm and pleasing with grace.

"You're a warrior from hundreds of years of warriors. I saw it for myself. Your grandfather Campbell was so proud to call you his own that tears came to his eyes. He called you a miracle. Now you need to keep that knowledge tucked away in here," he said, patting Dean's ironically plaid shirt over his heart, "when things get ugly with The Darkness because we both know it'll get much worse before it gets better. When you can carry those who came before you into war, you're never alone, and I know that from experience too. I wanted you to have that gift."

"Cas...." No words came to Dean that seemed remotely adequate.

The thought that someone had seen, had guessed at his loneliness--and that it had been Castiel--broke down some of the hardness built up in him over the years. He turned one of his hands into Castiel's and laced his fingers through it, unable to say anything meaningful still. The angel squeezed back, ever understanding and ever present. Dean held the dirk, a weapon that had protected his clansmen three hundred years before, would now protect his makeshift family in the present.

They were a clan, he realized, living and working together in the bunker the same way clan Campbell lived and worked together at Cawdor Castle centuries past. And Castiel had witnessed it. The sense of belonging strengthened Dean in ways he hadn't expected but it was, yes, like he'd subconsciously built his own clan over the years. Many of his clansmen had been killed in the wars, if he thought of things in those terms, but they were still with him. Charlie, Kevin, Ash, Jo, Ellen, Bobby ... he owed it to each of them to fight The Darkness and get back to his roots, to get back to the business of being the Righteous Man.

"There's one more thing," said Castiel in a soft tone.

"Okay, what?" Dean asked. He was all too aware that Castiel's hand was still wrapped around his, both around the dirk.

"Grant Campbell stopped me before I left the castle. He seemed just as persistent about this as he was about making me give you the weapon from his hip." The sudden void of Castiel letting go left Dean's hand cold and empty. He fumbled in his midnight blue suit trouser pocket and produced a vivid amethyst crystal in the palm of his hand. "Highland Scots are a superstitious people, I gather. Or they were in your grandfather's time. He said the Campbells had the power of second sight, which made me think of Sam and perhaps his gift was inherited from his family and not forced on him by demons. The second sight, he said, is stronger with Scottish stones. He said this is a piece of the Campbell amethyst meant for you. If you ever lose your way, or lose someone you love, you can look into this to find the right path again. I have a spell given to your grandfather for this purpose. He said the stone will go clear and show you what you need to know."

"Hmm," Dean mused, fingering the cold, smooth surface of the amethyst. "Seems like the supernatural's been following my family forever."

"Yes, maybe. Your grandfather wasn't afraid of it, though. He used it to his advantage for protecting his people." He folded the amethyst into Dean's open hand and it warmed against his calloused skin. "I think there are lessons to be drawn from that. It's not my place but you should think about healing that old wound for your brother now that you know it wasn't the demons. Healing will strengthen your bond and make it that much harder for The Darkness to win."

As much as Dean hated poking at old ghosts, he knew Castiel was right. He nodded, biting his lip. The selflessness in the angel leaning against his arm humbled him to a quiet place he hadn't explored before in his soul. It was peaceful there, below the churning fear, anger, and at times, bloodlust and vengeance.

The clarity Castiel gave him was so much more of a powerful gift than any physical object. He was grateful and at peace for the first time in ... damn, he couldn't remember how long ... but the happy moments in chaos were all punctuated by Castiel's face. That night they spent together before dropping him off again at the Gas n Sip came to mind. They'd kissed on the hood of the Impala, parked like damn teenagers, but really just talking through the night like they used to during the apocalypse. Neither of them spoke of those brief moments again. Dean didn't know why he was transported back to the hood of the Impala in that moment and it unnerved him that it happened when he held onto the Campbell amethyst.

The stone will show you what you need to know.

"Thank you, Cas," he whispered. "This is the most awesome thing anyone's ever done for me."

A prideful smile bloomed across Castiel's face, making his eyes twinkle brighter blue. "I'm glad, Dean. You're welcome."

Impulsively, Dean leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips tenderly but firmly to the corner of Castiel's mouth. Stillness overcame the angel. Breath stuttered in his chest, so faint and so pure that only the two of them could have perceived it. Kissing the soft skin at the corner of Castiel's mouth felt infinitely more intimate than plunging tongues and grazing teeth. It wasn't about that for Dean. It was about letting his guard down enough to let Castiel in farther than he had the night they sat on the hood of the Impala.

"Happy birthday, Dean," the angel whispered before turning his face and offering his own kiss.


End file.
